Desperation and Need
by callyhughes
Summary: A short and sappy AU


A short and a little sappy AU.

Desperation and Need

Murdoch Lancer sat before his desk, head bowed and eyes focused on the ledger that lay open before him. The rancher quickly found it impossible to concentrate on the columns of figures and they faded into an inky blur.

His mind began to wander, leading his thoughts outside to the storm that had raged for the past half hour. The rain pelted against the windows driven by a fierce gale. Its unearthly wailing conjuring up images of a tortured soul lost somewhere out in the darkness.

It was a dismal winter's night outside but an even bleaker one within the hacienda walls. Alone with only his oppressive thoughts for company Murdoch had opened the ledger, hoping it would stop his incessant journeys back in time. Back to a past full of heartache and loss. The loss of two wives and of two sons, and years of loneliness and despair. He'd wanted his boys so desperately but had been unable to bring either one home.

He had tried so very hard to find his youngest son; every time his hopes had been raised they had then been brutally crushed. The Pinkerton Agency had come close to finding the boy on several occasions but never close enough. Barely a month back a telegram had arrived to say Johnny had been located in El Paso but the boy had then disappeared, it was as if he didn't want to be found.

Johnny would be seventeen now, with the raven black hair of his mother and the startling blue eyes that Murdoch remembered so vividly. But he would be a stranger to his father now, almost a man, no longer the little boy he had lost fifteen years earlier. Murdoch knew the boy went by another name and had earned himself a reputation, a reputation that so haunted his father.

'How could he have let that happen to his son?'

Suddenly weary, Murdoch dropped his head into his hands rubbing at his tired, bleary eyes, feeling every one of his fifty years.

'Where had all those years gone, and just what did he have to show for all his years of toil?'

Yes he'd built his own empire, but what good was it without someone to share it with? It gave him no pleasure, offered no comfort, and comfort was sadly lacking in his life. To be completely honest with himself, comfort was something he was in great need of.

The last twenty-one years had taken there toll, leaving his heart an open sore that still bled and ached endlessly. At times like this the pain threatened to overwhelm him and the future seemed an even colder darker place, but some how he had always managed to step back from the black void that beckoned. He couldn't give up, would never give up...not on bringing his boys home.

Murdoch's thoughts moved to his eldest son. He had seen Scott only once and that had been on his fifth birthday. Murdoch held that memory deep in his heart, it warmed him when the world grew cold.

All hope of returning from Boston with the child had been dashed by Harlan Garrett, he wasn't prepared to let his grandson go without a fight, a fight he'd made quite clear would involve the boy and Murdoch couldn't put his son through that.

Time had marched painfully on and with the help of the Pinkerton Agency Murdoch had followed his son's path in life. He was so very proud of the young man he'd become.

But Scott had reached adulthood and with not one reply ever being sent to the many letter's and gifts he'd forwarded over the last twenty-one years, Murdoch had had to acknowledge his son just didn't want any contact with him.

'If I could see him, talk to him, just once more before I die. Maybe God will at least grant me that.'

Slowly his thoughts turned to the two wives he had loved and so dramatically lost, he had loved them both so dearly and they had each given him a son. Two God given blessings that had then been cruelly ripped from him, what had he ever done to deserve that?

Murdoch sighed heavily, self pity reaped no rewards, he'd learnt that lesson a long time ago and he chided himself on going down that wretched path again.

He sternly told himself that what he really needed right now was a drink. Of course there was no solace to be found in a bottle, he knew that too, but for tonight he'd allow himself the luxury of drowning his melancholy.

Swirling the amber liquid around in his glass he sat himself back at his desk. A movement outside caught his eye, his eyes narrowed as the French door opened and in stepped a young man.

At first Murdoch thought it was one of the hands and he was about to instruct him to move to the fire to dry off when he noticed a gun pointing directly at him. Meeting the intruders glare he was struck by the hate in the blue eyes, the same vivid blue eyes that he had just been thinking about.

Murdoch's world jolted to a halt; he was suddenly unable to move. Unable to breathe.

'Was he really looking at his son?'

He watched in utter disbelief as the boy moved closer. A sneer marred the handsome features, and he began to speak in a voice so hostile and hate filled that it chilled Murdoch to the bone.

"I hear you've been looking for me, Old Man?"

"John! Johnny, thank God. I…I can't believe it's you!" Murdoch's voice trembled. He noticed the deadly stare faltered briefly but the gun remained pointed at his heart. He searched the boys face; there was so much anger, so much hate. 'Why?'

The boy tensed, his eyes flashing angrily as his voice rose in volume.

"What is it you want? Why'd you have that Pinkerton man trailing me? Well? Are you gonna answer me or do you need some persuading."

A single shot rang out; Murdoch heard the bullet whistle past his ear and his heart felt about ready to stop. Something told him to remain seated, to stay calm, so with grim determination he kept his eyes locked on the boy and said softly.

"You don't need a gun here. Put it away."

"Don't tell me what to do Old Man!"

While the boy glared menacingly back at him Murdoch studied him more closely, his clothes were inadequate for the time of year and they were completely sodden. He wore no hat and droplets of rainwater trickled from the raven hair and down his face. Tanned skin failed to conceal the pallor or the abnormal flush in his cheeks. Aware he was being scrutinized he seemed to momentarily lose his composure looking for all the world like a lost, frightened little boy and Murdoch ached to hold him.

"We need to talk, but not like this, put the gun away, please John." Murdoch tried again to defuse the situation, desperate to reason with the boy but the boy just stared back, his sapphire eyes cold and emotionless once again.

Johnny struggled to keep control of his emotions. The fever that plagued him seemed to heighten his anger and the pain in his chest made thinking so difficult.

He told himself again to stay calm and to remember the plan - give the bastard one chance to explain himself, then put a bullet between his eyes.

But things weren't going to plan, from the minute he had entered the room he'd had to fight to hold onto his resolve. This stranger had looked at him and immediately recognised him!

'How?'

The brown eyes had filled with tears!

'Why?'

It didn't make sense, Murdoch Lancer had never wanted him, he'd thrown his mother and him out! The Pinkerton Agent had told Johnny his father had been looking for him for fifteen years, he'd laughed openly in the man's face, then later decided to meet the man, but on his own terms.

He'd given the Agent the slip, then he had made his way here, waiting, biding his time to catch the bastard by himself. Finally the time had come and he had rode towards the estancia with one intention, to kill the man who had fathered then abandoned him.

"I asked you a question! What is it you want?"

Johnny kept his eyes fixed on the strangers, but it grew increasingly difficult. The man stared back but his eyes held no fear, no hate, only….

Johnny didn't like what he saw there, not the way it made him feel. He began to cough, a dry, harsh bark that sent a searing pain through his chest, every breath was sheer agony and he cursed himself for allowing himself to become ill.

But he hadn't known the area and with his pockets empty – his last job having earned him nothing more than a hot meal and a bed for the night, he'd had to camp out with little shelter. The relentless rain and bone chilling cold had nurtured the pneumonia that gripped him now.

"YOU! You John. You are what I want. I've been looking for you for so many years, ever since your mother left and took you with her." Murdoch's voice rang out passionately, and he stared with great concern at his son, the hacking cough confirmed the boy was ill.

"YOU THREW US OUT." Johnny yelled, bringing on another excruciating coughing fit but not before he'd once again pulled the trigger of his gun. Fever and pain again clouded his mind and he was forced to fight off the blackness to stay upright.

Murdoch knew the bullet had missed him by inches and that his life depended on the way he handled the situation. He remained seated but desperately wanted to get nearer to his son, he waited anxiously for the coughing spasm to pass.

"No I did not. I loved your mother and for a while she loved me, but she grew restless. She wanted more than a life here could give her. Excitement, adventure maybe, I don't know for sure but I do know she left with another man. Maria left me and took you John, with her."

Johnny laughed mockingly and his eyes darted around the great room taking in the obvious signs of wealth. He walked to the fireplace the gun finally being lowered.

"My mama left all this? For some dirty little back room in some border town cantina! I don't think so Old Man! She had everything she could have wanted here and nothing, not a damn thing there!

Once again the eyes blazed and Johnny lashed out with his gun sending a lamp crashing to the floor.

"YOU! You threw her out! You know something Old Man? You've told that lie so many times now that you actually believe it yourself!

"No. I've told you the truth. Maria left me for another man. He must have promised her something I couldn't give, and then abandoned her. Why would I search for you for all these years if I didn't want you, why? Think about it Johnny."

Murdoch stood up slowly and walked around the desk, not surprised to find the gun being pointed in his direction once more.

"STAY THERE!" Johnny demanded and he backed slowly towards the book shelf, he took a book down and read the cover.

"Poetry! You?" A sneer crept across his face.

"No, your mother Johnny, Maria loved poetry, every book of poetry you see there I bought just for her."

Johnny gazed at the book.

"Open it, look in the inside cover, I've written something in every one."

Johnny reluctantly opened the book unprepared for what was beautifully inscribed there.

For My Beloved Wife Maria,

Today and every day I will thank God for the blessed

gift of our son.

I name him John, The grace of the Lord.

Johnny snapped the book shut unable to read anymore. This wasn't right! His mother had told him that his father had never loved her, only used her and eventually had tired of her, sending her away with her half breed son for whom he felt nothing but shame.

Seeing the pained expression cross his sons face Murdoch moved closer, in an instant the boy had released another bullet.

Murdoch felt himself rock back as the bullet seared a path along his left shoulder. Instantly his right hand covered the area and he felt the warmth of his own blood.

Horrified that the boy had actually shot him he closed his eyes, desperately trying to quell the nausea that threatened to overpower him. He inhaled deeply, finally forcing himself to once again look into the blue eyes. Murdoch was stunned to see the horror mirrored there, he knew then that the bullet had not been intended to hit him, only to warn him off.

"It's just a scratch son, please put the gun down, we need to talk." Now more than ever Murdoch wanted to hold his son in his arms.

The boy recovered quickly, his face turning back to stone but he couldn't control the tremor in his voice.

"I told you to stay there didn't I? Come any closer and the next one will send you to hell."

"Listen to me, hear me out and then maybe you will see things differently."

"You think I'm gonna believe anything you say, this book don't prove nothin'."

Johnny held the book in the air, the words written there had soundly shaken his long held beliefs but he wasn't going to let the old man know that.

"It proves I loved your mother. It proves I loved and still love you. You were just a day old when I wrote that, you lay asleep in my arms. It was intended to be an indelible record of my love for you both."

Johnny turned away; he couldn't look at the man any longer. He could feel the hate inside begin to dissolve. How could he let go of it so easily?

Murdoch saw the boys shoulders sag and carried on.

"The first time I met your mother I fell instantly in love. She was so full of life, so full of love, her eyes danced and her smile warmed my heart, it had been cold for so long. My first wife had died and I had grieved for her…"

Johnny turned around quickly.

"You were married before, she never said." The boy lowered his gaze, what else hadn't she told him.

"Yes to Catherine, but she died in childbirth and part of me died with her. But your mother made me want to live again. We married and you were born. What a night that was! Something like tonight, the rain was coming down in torrents and the wind was blowing so hard. Your mother had woken me up telling me our son was eager to be born. There was no one to help with the birth. The weather too foul to go for assistance.

"Your mother was so calm, even through all the pain, but I…well I started to panic. I had lost Catherine and I was scared I might lose Maria in the same way. But you came so very quickly, everything happened so very fast and before I knew it I was holding this tiny squirming bundle....you.

"I held on tight terrified I might drop you, the closer I held you the more settled you became. You were so content in my arms, I held you until you fell asleep and then I handed you back to your mother. As I looked at my wife holding our son I thought my heart would burst."

Johnny gazed intently at the older man, mesmerized by the emotions on the weathered face, the softly spoken words churning him up inside. He wished he could believe what the old man was saying, wished he had some memory of that time. He wanted so desperately to believe him, to believe he'd been wanted and loved but even more he wanted to know that love again.

Murdoch watched his son turn away again. Was he beginning to break through the lies? He prayed to God he was.

"We were happy for over two years and then she became restless. The ranch had grown; there was so much to do. Maria seemed to resent the time I had to spend working, I know I didn't give her the attention she wanted but I didn't neglect her John and I never stopped loving her or you.

"I woke up one morning and she had gone. I swear to you John, I swear before God that I didn't send her away. I searched for you both, I wanted your mother but, I wanted you more."

Hopelessly confused Johnny whirled around to face his father; he raised the gun and once more pointed it at Murdoch.

"I don't believe you! It's…its all lies…it has to be." Johnny's voice faltered, torn apart as he remembered his mothers words, no longer knowing what or who to believe.

"Put the gun down son." Murdoch started to walk towards Johnny, he couldn't bear to see his child hurting anymore.

"One step closer and I'll put the next one between your eyes." Johnny's voice trembled as the war raged inside, the old man was lying, he had to be, none of it made sense, nothing made sense anymore.

The room began to spin around him and Johnny felt himself sway. The tall figure moved closer, his arms outstretched. Panic gripped him and a roaring wind filled his ears. The long arms folded around him. "No, don't!" Johnny protested weakly. When his plea went unheeded he began to struggle, dropping his gun. The arms tightened around him and he ceased his efforts to escape the embrace. It felt good, and suddenly he felt so very safe.

He strained to hear the hushed voice as it slowly began to fill him with warmth, filtering through into his very soul.

"Johnny, I love you. I love you son and I've been waiting to do this for such a long time."

As Murdoch hugged his son closer to him, he felt the boy's knees buckle beneath him, becoming limp in his arms. He supported his son's weight, lifted him gently and carried the now unconscious boy to the couch.

Heat radiated alarmingly from the youth, and Murdoch realised just how ill the boy was. He hurried to the door with the intentions of sending one of the men for the doctor. He opened it just an oilskin clad young man was about to knock upon it. Both were momentarily caught off guard, the stranger recovered first.

"Mr Murdoch Lancer?"

There was something so very familiar about the caller's eyes; they reminded him so very much of his Catherine. 'It couldn't be' the rancher told himself a heartbeat before whispering his elder son's name, "Scott?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Scott!" Murdoch repeated gazing at his first born son in wonder.

Unnerved by both the older man's intense gaze and the enormity of the moment Scott Lancer felt the need to talk and heard himself prattle on nervously, "I apologise for arriving unannounced, Sir. I had planned on sending you word when I reached Moro Coyo but when I realised how close I was to your ranch..."

Scott paused unsure of what to make of his father's apparent lack of reaction. Mouth suddenly very dry he forced himself to explain further.

"I was advised to stay in town and to not travel here tonight but tomorrow seemed a long way off."

Scott shivered involuntarily, although his attire provided excellent protection from the elements he suddenly felt terrible cold. His discomfort didn't go unnoticed and to his relief seemed to jolt the older man from his apparent daze.

"Forgive me." Murdoch managed to force out, eyes locked on the son he had almost given up on ever meeting again. But there was no time for the greeting he had so often imagined giving his son.

"Scott…I'm sorry, it's your brother, he's over there on the couch, he's ill. Stay with him while I send for the doctor."

Scott hurried inside and with heart pounding ran over to where Johnny lay. He knelt down beside the brother he had only one month ago found out existed. Gently he placed a trembling hand on the flushed cheek and flinched; the boy was burning up.

Johnny's eyes flickered open staring into the blue eyes of the blonde stranger, he tried to sit up but found himself being pushed back down, his hand instantly went for his gun, but it wasn't there.

"Easy Johnny, lie still…"

"Who are you?" Johnny demanded weakly.

"I'm your brother, Scott."

"Brother?" Johnny whispered, the old man hadn't mentioned a brother.

He closed his eyes, this was all too much to take in and he felt too ill to face it all now. The darkness beckoned and he wished it would claim him.

He could hear the old man calling his name somewhere off in the distance, felt a cool hand rest briefly on his forehead. He felt himself being lifted and carried, then laid down on something soft.

Two pairs of hands gently eased him out of his wet clothes, he protested weakly but his strength had completely deserted him now and he found he couldn't even open his eyes. He couldn't fight them...didn't want to fight them and let himself drift off into a sea of darkness.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Doctor Sam Jenkins finally removed the stethoscope from his ears and stared gravely at his old friend. He'd been staggered to find his patient was Murdoch Lancer's younger son, and shaken further on being introduced to his brother. The tall blonde stood beside his father now, looking equally concerned about the boy's condition.

"Well" Both men said in unison.

"Pneumonia, pleurisy. We've got one very sick young man here.

There was little time for talking that first night as both Murdoch and his elder son fought to lower the fever that held Johnny in its grip.

The boy drifted in and out of consciousness. Sam's instructions were hard to follow but both accepted them as a necessary evil.

Johnny was to be encouraged, made to cough up the congestion present in both lungs. No easy task. All the boy wanted to do was sleep and avoid anything that initiated the merciless stabbing of the hot knife behind his ribs. He cursed them both, unable to understand their need to torture him further, but he was grateful for the water they kept offering him, and for the steady hands that held the glass to his lips.

When the fever was finally defeated both realised that a whole day had come and gone and that the long shadows were falling again. They took it in turns to freshen up and force down a sandwich, each eager to return to the room where a bond was beginning to form, a bond borne out of desperation and need.

As Johnny slipped once more into sleep the two men sighed with relief. The last half hour had been unpleasant for all concerned. The boy, feeling a little better and putting up more of a fight against their ministrations, had turned the air as vivid a blue as his eyes when his protests went unheeded.

Murdoch had firmly turned on the boy, telling him he would not tolerate language such as that from his son. As weak as he was Johnny had retaliated, hurling abuse and denouncing Murdoch as his father.

Several silent, painful minutes had passed before Murdoch sat down beside his son, declaring in no uncertain terms that he was his father and expected respect for that fact at least.

Staring the boy down he felt he'd somehow managed to get an important message across to his younger son. Murdoch didn't know it but it had also earned him some respect from his elder son.

Sitting opposite each other on either side of the bed, their eyes eventually met.

"I owe you an apology sir."

"What?" Murdoch couldn't imagine what apology he was owed.

"For taking so long to find out the truth about you."

"The truth about me?"

"Yes, I was led to believe you didn't want me, that you had abandoned me and forgotten I existed. I despised you without even knowing you.

Last year I became aware I was being...shall we say observed. To cut a long and intriguing story short I hired the Pinkerton Agency to investigate. They were reluctant at first and I soon found out why. There was a conflict of interests. They were actually working for you and had been for quite a while.

"I began to do some investigating myself, spoke to certain people in my grand fathers employ, eventually I felt confident with the information I had gleaned and approached my grandfather, demanding he explain his refusal to allow my father any involvement in my life.

"It was a most unpleasant confrontation, at first he denied everything, but faced with the proof he finally admitted what he had done. He even admitted he had destroyed the letters you had sent me, so too the birthday and Christmas presents.

"Last month I found out about Johnny, my grandfather had kept my brothers existence from me too, I knew you were looking for him; I left Boston with the intention of meeting you and helping you in your search." Scott paused briefly as his gaze moved to his brother. "I may have arrived a little too late for that but I believe my timing was perfect."

Meeting his father's puzzled gaze Scott began to explain his statement, "Seeing you with Johnny, the way you have cared for him, the way you disciplined him just then. There's no doubt in my mind that you love him..."

"I love you too." Murdoch interrupted desperate for his older boy to believe that of him too.

Scott smiled savouring the moment before answering softly, "I know." Clearing the lump from his throat he continued, "But I don't think Johnny will be so easily convinced."

"No." Murdoch agreed as much as he wanted to believe differently.

"He's going to be a handful..."

"He's going to need his big brother," the older man interjected desperately, "Just like he needed him tonight."

"Yes." Scott replied staring intently into his father's eyes, knowing Johnny wasn't the only one who wanted and needed him at Lancer.

The End.


End file.
